


When On Lira San

by mudkipwrites



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien/Human Relationships, Deepthroating, Eventual Sex, Everybody Is Naked, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Interspecies Awkwardness, Lira San, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pining, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Kallus visits Lira San for the first time, and Zeb invites him to partake in some local traditions.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 28
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how many fic tropes I can get in here before the ending!

* * *

CHAPTER ONE 

When their brightly-painted shuttle touches down upon the red-brown, sandy earth of Lira San, Alexsandr Kallus rubs his gloved hands together in anticipation. 

“Garazeb, I cannot _wait_ to begin exploring your new home-world!” the sandy-haired human declares to his friend. “I’ve been eager to taste all these delightful curries that you speak of, and I cannot even begin to _imagine_ what those glittering, purple waterfalls look like from up close!”

The towering, purple alien smiles back at the eager human. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to this too, Kal,” he replies fondly. “Just keep it down on all that Imperial energy, and we’ll be just fine.” 

A look of horror crosses Alexsandr Kallus’ face. The former ISB agent turns quickly to look at his appearance in the reflective durasteel panel hanging outside the ‘fresher, his golden eyes flashing with concern and alarm. 

“What did I say? What did I _do_ ?” he asks anxiously, rubbing both hands over his golden-brown mutton chops. “Is it the holsters? I _knew_ that I should have left my blasters at home. Karabast, Zeb, I--” 

The shorter man quiets when a reassuring hand settles upon his shoulder. 

“Sorry, Alexsandr. I’m just messin’ with ya.” Kallus whips around to see the Lasat grinning at him. “I didn’ mean that you were acting all... _evil_ again or nothin’. I just meant you seemed a little gung-ho. And the blasters were a good choice, actually: weapons are pretty important feature to my people, remember?”

Kallus huffs. “I remember.” 

He is more than a little edgy when it comes to his experiences with Lasats as a species. Although he’d always been fascinated by aliens before ever meeting Zeb, his first experience with his culture had been when the Partisans murdered Alexsandr’s whole platoon. Not to mention his _next_ experience…

“Maybe this was stupid,” Kallus reflects quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here at, Garazeb...” 

The large, clawed hand upon his shoulder squeezes gently. Kallus looks up into the familiar, emerald-green eyes of a man that he has come to trust with his life. 

“Don’ say that,” Zeb tells him, gazing at him with a steady intensity. “We’ve been talking about this trip for _ages_ . I wanted you to come here with me so that you could see how you aren’t as terrible as you think you are--and that you _aren’t_ solely responsible for the destruction of my people and their lives. When you get out there on Lira San, you’re gonna see with your own two eyes that we aren’t just surviving, we’re _thriving._ Okay?”

Kallus flicks his gaze down to look at the Lasat’s thick, muscled chest. He knows that Zeb’s heart is beating just beneath that jumpsuit and fur, hearty and strong. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “Yes. I trust you. You’re right, Zeb.”

“Course I’m right!” Zeb says firmly. “We’re gonna get off this ship, we’re gonna have a _good time,_ and you’re gonna let it all of that self-hate krayt-spit go.” 

With a firm pat on Kallus’ back, he turns away from him and towards the door. 

“Just you wait.” 

Kallus hums, turning to pick up his garment bag. It’s heavy-- _much_ heavier than Zeb’s, for some odd reason. Must be his preference for wearing just the lightweight jumpsuits. 

“Anyway,” Zeb continues from over by the shuttle door. “All I was tryin’ to say earlier is that you could maybe tone it down a bit. It makes you less like such a tourist, ya know? All that wide-eyed enthusiasm?”

Kallus moves quickly from repentance into indignation. 

“I _am_ a tourist!” he points out irritably. “This is the first time that I’ve ever been on to the new Lasat planet! Humans don’t _live_ here, let alone visit! This is all new to me, Zeb; why _should_ I be embarrassed of being a tourist, if that means learning something new?” 

Kallus turns towards the exit. He freezes. 

“ _G-Garazeb!_ You’re...you’re _naked!”_

The Lasat is _half-_ naked, to be more accurate. Turned away from Kallus, one of his great hands is busily pushing down the edge of his orange-yellow jumpsuit, and the other is working with a zip that runs down his thigh towards his calf. _Every single_ _one_ of his enormous, purple-furred muscles is bulging from his crouched work, and Kallus can’t even school himself in this moment to look away from the _glorious_ sight. 

Alexandr Kallus feels a shocking _heat_ rushing up his spine.

“W-what are you _doing?!”_

Garazeb turns. He is frowning, but Kallus is not looking at his face. Kallus is _looking_ at the way that Zeb’s purple fur falls short, soft, and velvety over a network of rippling muscles. He is looking at the way that his striped coat pattern unfolds in a way that twines down his shoulders and spine, wrapping around his powerful forearms, and comes to rest within the narrowing valley of his pelvis. He is looking at the way Zeb’s clawed fingers are hooked over the edge of his jumpsuit, just short of dragging the thin fabric down over the powerful swell of his hips. 

“Uh. Getting _ready?”_ Zeb states. 

As though this is plain. As though Kallus is _not_ experiencing the unfolding of his greatest desires directly in front of him. When he finally releases a tense, choking sound, a look of recognition smoothes over Zeb’s confused features. 

“Oh! I may’ve forgot to mention it before,” he laughs, sharp canines glittering. “Lasats aren’t much for clothin’ Kal. We’re pretty much what your lot would call _‘in the buff’_ when we’re left to ourselves.” 

“ _Ah...”_ Kallus, an intellectual, manages. His eyes cannot leave Zeb’s abdominal muscles. 

The Lasat chuckles affectionately. As it seems, Zeb appears utterly un-embarrassed by his stark nakedness, or Kallus’ looking. As he pulls at the stretching waistband of his jumpsuit, his massive, furred bicep muscles flex and jump, straining against the light resistance of his form-fitting clothing. 

“Don’t worry, Kal. You aren’t _required_ to participate in anythin’ that doesn’t make ya feel right.” With an easy gesture, Zeb divests himself of the rest of his clothing. “As usual, your safety is my priority. So you just wear whatever you like, an’ _nobody_ will think any worse of ya.”

Kallus stares. 

Garazeb’s body is… _similar._ Similar, but still different, from a human male. Kallus can hear the pounding of blood in his ears as his eyes rake over Garazeb’s handsome lower half. Yes, he is of the male sex: a pair of thick-skinned, indigo testicles hang heavily between his powerful thighs--and there is a dark, glistening _slit_ , cloaking _something_ that is sheathed, retractible, and _large._

“Besides, you’re here with _me._ Anybody with the former Captain of the High Honor Guard is a welcome guest.” 

His mouth feels dry. He would _very much_ like to be a welcomed guest at Zeb’s body.

“R-right!” a very flustered Alexander Kallus replies. “O-of _course_ ! A Lasat custom. _Naturally._ Yes, I think that it might be in my best interest to wear my skin still for now. I mean, m-my _clothing._ Yeah. That is, at least, until we get home. Er! Until, ah, I get more _familiar_ with the territory.” 

He wipes at the stray threads of blonde hair clinging to his forehead. 

Garazeb grins. 

With the casual ease of someone who is accustomed to being seen and admired, he tucks his discarded jumpsuit into the small satchel hanging across his bare shoulders.

“Good. Well, in that case, Kal, what’re waitin’ for? C’mon: let’s go see some of those purple waterfalls!” 

  
  
  


_This is how I die,_ Alexsandr Kallus thinks dumbly. _This is where I finally meet my end._

Crowds of people--all of them Lasats, and all of them _naked--_ are standing and waving along the road. Whenever he glances up from his stumbling feet, Kallus catches glimpses of the colorful residents (blue, purple, and silvery-grey) waving at them and stomping their feet in recognition. It appears that Captain Garazeb Orrelios of the former Lasan High Honor Guard is indeed a welcome guest. And that everyone is eager to catch a glimpse of his strange, hairless friend. 

Kallus is glad that he had decided to wear his ‘human-clothing.’ He is _certain_ that, if he were walking in the breeze like Garazeb, that his body would be doing one of two things: shuddering into an anxious withdrawal from the hyper-stimulation of sights, sounds and smells; or, reacting _very_ strongly to the presence of the man next to him. Zeb is... _striking._ Kallus has always been drawn to his friend _(okay: has fantasized about him countless nights, wondering what it would be like to slide his hands over his muscular, soft-furred body, to taste his rough tongue sliding against his soft own),_ but he has never been able to be so _open_ with his interest before today. It seems only natural that, in the presence of such physical nakedness, that Kallus can gaze and appreciate Zeb in every _inch_ of his powerful glory: his strong shoulders; his well-defined core; the thick, violet bristles of his beard and chest. 

Garazeb, it seems, could not be _less_ aware of Kallus’ unrestrained gazing. The other man is waving to Lasats he recognizes, cheerfully calling out names and even soluting some others as they make their way down the noisy streets. If Alexsandr Kallus wasn’t _so_ distracted by the color and sound of the vibrant Lira San aesthetic, he would no doubt be enchanted by the curve of Zeb’s smile, the tilt of his head, the way that his muscles tensed as footstep pressed into the ground...

Fixed upon the Lasat, Kallus nearly stumbles over a child as she barrels into the street.

With an unexpectedly athletic jump, the Lasat cub launches herself out of the way, and then, up from the dusty village road into Zeb’s arms. 

“Uncle Garazeb!” she cheers, hugging him tightly. 

The child is small, purple, and striped. Her fur is much more fluffy than adult Garazeb’s, and it creates a bubbled affect around her large head and oversized ears. It’s _very_ cute.

“Hullo, Little Stripe!” Zeb laughs. He ruffles the young Lasat’s curly head with a massive hand. “How are ya? You been causin’ trouble for yer mothers?” 

The cub grins mischievously back at him. Several of her fangs, Kallus notices, are missing. 

“Always!” she replies proudly. Then, she spies Kallus walking behind him, her eyes grow wide with wonder. “Uncle _Zeb._ Did you bring your _mate?!”_

Kallus feels himself stiffen with the similar kind of delightful dread that he’d felt on the ship. akin 

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Zeb chuckles easily. “Bryza: meet Alexsandr.” He turns back to his friend, scratching the child behind her huge, pointed ears. “Kal? This is my niece, Bryzarabet. Say hello.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kallus greets, unable to help the smile tugging across his face. 

The sight of his friend holding a child--a _Lasat_ child--in his arms is one of the sweetest sights that he’s ever seen in the galaxy. It’s _almost_ enough to make him forget that he’s the lone sole who is not raging-starkers in the whole, bustling crowd. 

“I’m Alexsandr. Sandr is fine.” 

_“Sandy,_ ” She pronounces.

Kallus winces, and Garazeb laughs loudly again.

“Well, he _smells_ nice, Uncle Zeb--and his face fur is good, even though he’s on the small side--but _what happened_ to all of his _fur?”_ Turning her round, emerald-green eyes upon Kallus, she asks, “Do you have the mange?” 

Kallus’ doesn’t know quite what to say--but he is spared from the moment by two female Lasats emerging from the crowd.

Like Zeb, they are both tall, strong and purple; but, _unlike_ Zeb, they are clearly female. Along with other child-bearing traits, the female Lasats, it appears, are also _maned:_ where Garazeb is completely bald outside of his chin and beard, these two both have a _wild_ mane of bristling, curly hair in addition to their facial fur. 

One of the Lasats--the one who is closest to them, and who _quite_ resembles Garazeb in her face--reaches out for the youngling in his friend’s arms. 

“Garazeb! Sorry about Bryza. She was _supposed_ to finish preparing the guest room.” She shakes her head passing the squirming child on to her wife. “Welcome home.” 

The female Lasat is _tall--_ maybe, even taller than her brother. When she opens her strong arms, they are wide enough to embrace the two of them in her shadow. Kallus forces himself not to step back in alarm; if her eyes were not so friendly and familiar, Kallus may have trembled a bit at the knees from intimidation. 

“It’s good to be here, Betzia,” Garazeb replies. He hugs his sister, nuzzling into her shoulder. 

As he gazes at the grateful affection being displayed between the two of them, the former Imperial realizes that there must have been many years of grief between the pair of them, including ones during which neither may have known that the other survived. He gives a small shiver. 

“And, maybe, you’ll stay with us _longer_ this time? Now that you’ve brought your mate with you?” 

Starting, Kallus makes the same eloquent choking noise that he had back on the ship. _Again?_

Zeb rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Zia. Not _everybody_ in this family is as gay as you.” 

Kallus is horrified at his friend’s expression, but Betzia only snorts at him in disbelief. 

“Hmm, do you think so?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at Kallus. “Well, too bad for you, honey. This one’s short, but he’s _very_ handsome.” 

Glowing with embarrassment, Kallus mutters and looks back at the ground. He thinks that he hears Zeb mutter something terse like ( _“Don’t mess with him!”)_ and Zia’s quiet laughter in playful response. Not wanting to stare at his friend or interrupt, Kallus busies himself with looking around the village square. Colorful plants of every variety hang from baskets and pour from window-boxes. Chatting Lasats _(naked, of course)_ lounge upon hammocks and rooftops, drinking from steaming, earthenware cups. Above him, an elderly Lasat leans out of a red, sandstone building for a better glimpse of them. Not sure what else he should do, Kallus waves.

The sound of approaching feet reaches Kallus’ ears, and he turns to see a new group of Lasats walking towards them in formation. 

“How are you this fine day, Captain Orrelios?” greets a blue-coated female Lasat. She is carrying a bo-rifle across her shoulders, and appears to be some kind of soldier herself, judging by her form and posture. “We are pleased to have you and your guest in our humble town.” 

Zeb places one hand into his open fist, ducking his head into an honor-bow. 

“Captain! The pleasure is mine. Anyway, it’s Zeb, if ya please. You know that I no longer serve in that post. But it’s good to be here, and with such good company!” He reaches out a hand to pat upon Kallus’ shoulder. “This here’s my best friend.” 

For the first time since the ship, Kallus allows himself to meet Garazeb’s eyes. Somehow, it feels even more intimate than allowing them to roam freely. 

He blushes. 

“I’d like to introduce ya to Captain Alexsandr Kallus, formerly of the Rebel Alliance. He’s a fine warrior, an’ one of the very best men that I know.” 

Kallus’ face burns as he exchanges honor-bows with the captain and her guardsmen, and it’s not only because all of his bowing has given him an eyeful of perfect, tight Lasat ass. 

“It’s an honor,” he manages. When her eyes flicker up and down his form, Kallus offers, “I come from the planet Coruscant, where many of my people work in large cities. Unfortunately, for a time, I was one of the Imperial agents who worked so hard to destroy the livelihood of innocent people. Like Garazeb, and the rest of the Lasats. For that, I beg your deepest pardon. I promise that I come here as your ally and friend, and I am alive only by the mercy of such a forgiving partner and friend.” 

The word _partner_ had slipped from his lips without intention. Kallus forces himself to maintain eye-contact with her, blushing again rather fiercely. Back on Yavin 4, they had become accustomed to introducing themselves as a pair, and nobody ever questioned it--but nothing _romantic_ has ever happened between them. No matter how many times that Garazeb has caught him in his yearning glances, the Lasat has yet to return any such sentiments. 

“It is good to have you here,” she affirms. “Captain Orrelios has told us everything that there is to know about you and your past. Please know that the elders have fully approved your visit, and that, as Garazeb’s guest, you are most safe and welcome here, as one of our own.” 

Kallus folds into an honor-bow once more, mind racing. _Zeb has talked about me? To the elders? What did he tell them?_ Straightening up, he looks over at his friend. _Did he tell them everything? About Lasan? The disrupters? All my part in this?_ The sight that he catches of Garazeb, however, dismantles any such thinking within his head: the man is _beautiful._ He is gleaming in the light of the hot, Lira San sun, the perfect picture of health and virility. His strong shoulders are squared and proud, and his deadly muscles ripple like a promise under his pelt. The earth seems to quake beneath Kallus’ feet as his eyes trail over Zeb’s hips, Zeb’s _thighs…_

“But you must be tired, after such a long journey!” the captain exclaims. “Come, let us escort you and the Orrelios-Zavius family back to their residence. We will make sure that your journey remains undisturbed.” 

Zeb’s sister Zia laughs. “Oh, too late, Captain! Our littlest Loth-cat already made a scene and asked pesky questions.” 

She turns to her wife, who gives her a calm nod. Addressing Kallus, Zia says, “Yes, I think that we’re ready for you now.Follow me, Alexsandr, and we’ll show you the way back to our home.” 

“Great. Thanks!” Kallus answers, feeling as though he has somehow earned much more than he deserves. “A bit of rest _does_ sound good. I never sleep well while the shuttle’s on entry.” 

It may just be his imagination, but Kallus thinks that he sees Zia give him a subtle _wink_ as she leads them away. 

_What else is in store for me?_

  
  
  
  


As it turns out, there was only one bed. 

_Ashla. Are you punishing me? Did I really earn this?_

Kallus stands in the doorway of the Lasat home, staring at the large, rounded, nest-like bundle of blankets. _I’m supposed to sleep with Zeb? In there? Curled up together, like a pair of Loth-cats?_ Kallus, who had had been much looking forward to the experience of relieving his pent-up arousal alone in his own chambers that night, now finds himself staring at the singular sleeping arrangement as though it is the headstone of his own grave. 

“Kal? We can set up hammocks outside, if ya like.” Garazeb, calm and confident as usual, strides into the room in nothing but his travelling satchel. Slinging that off of his broad shoulder, too, he flops down upon the nest-like bed. “ _Uunngg!_ Comfy.” 

The noise that his friend makes travels right down to Kallus’ groin. He makes a weak, whimpering sound, biting down on his tongue so that the Lasat might not hear it. 

“What do ya think? Would you rather sleep tonight under the stars?” 

“Let’s talk about it later,” Kallus replies in a rush, trying not to think of how _very_ romantic such an evening would promise to be. “What did you say that they have here? Waterfalls?” 

There is a creak on the bed, and Zeb leans forward on one of his elbows. 

_Stupid, sexy Lasat._

“Something wrong, Kal? I thought that you were feeling tired.” the big man gestures to the space next to him on the rumpled blankets. It _does_ look warm, and comfortable. “Don’t you want to take a nap before we get going?” 

“Too restless,” Kallus replies, running a hand through his hair. “Er, I mean: too excited.” He forces himself to stop pacing, then grabs definitively for his backpack. “Let’s go to the falls. I brought my swimsuit with me.” 

“Course ya did.” Zeb is giving him one of those toothy smiles again. Kallus feels the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and he purposefully turns away from the gaze. “Ever practical and prepared, you are.” 

Kallus sighs. “Thank you, Garazeb.” He makes to leave the room, and then hesitates, wondering if it would be too strange for him to change in the refresher when everyone else is so _clearly_ unbothered by nakedness. It would be too obvious to Zeb that he was not fitting in if he felt the need for modesty…

There is another creaking sound from the bed, and Kallus turns to see that Zeb has stood up. His body is as stunning as ever--and yet, there is something _ruffled_ about the way that he looks. The fur on his chest and the back of his neck are prickled upwards. 

“I’m gonna go and check in with Zia,” he says, pointing towards the door. “Meet you out there?” 

Kallus sighs with relief inwardly. “Great!” he replies. “Sure, meet you out there.” 

As he unfastens the loops of his belt and drops his trousers, it occurs to Alexsandr Kallus what the little one had said about himself earlier. _He smells good. His hair is nice._ Kallus shivers as he steps out from his pants, tugging his shirt over his head. _Does Zeb think that I smell good? That I’m attractive?_ He peers at the pale skin of his chest, covered by a network of pale, knotted scars and swirling, auburn curls. _But what’s wrong with him? Do you have a disease?_ Kallus shakes his head. _Don’t be stupid, Kallus.You know that Zeb doesn’t want you._ Reaching for his swimming shorts, he casts the useless thoughts from his head. _Besides. You know that Garazeb has been looking forward to this trip. Don’t be selfish. There’s no need to mess it up for him because you can’t control your feelings._

Making a mental note to bare down even harder upon his emotions, Kallus steels himself and walks towards their shared bedroom door.   
  


Zeb, it appears, _glistens_ when he is wet. 

Kallus has always appreciated the Lasat’s powerful form: but there is something _intoxicating_ about looking at him when he’s slicked down and smooth everywhere from the water. Every one of his lovely, striped, lavender hairs clings to his muscles, making him look like some sort of sculpted, purple-skinned _god._

“Kal, did you hear me?” 

He shakes his head, as though clearing out water from his ears. Garazeb is pointing at something below the surface of the shimmering, lilac-colored surface. The Lasat is grinning, and his mighty pectorals are heaving as his chest inhales and exhales with excitement. 

“Check these out! They remind me of the meteorite that we found back on that ice moon!” 

Tentatively, Kallus steps forward through the water. It is only ankle-deep where he is, while Garazeb is in up to his knees. When the Lasat splashes down upon all four of his feet, Kallus edges forward across the slippery pebbles. 

“C’mon, Kal. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the _waves?”_ he smirks at his best friend with the same, sly look that he’d given him back on Bahryn. 

Kallus squeezes his eyes shut and takes another step forward. 

“No, no. I’m not scared of the _water,_ Zeb. It’s just that-- _well._ I was excited about the purple falls, but I didn’t realize that I wasn’t going to be able to see the _bottom.”_ In all of his time training with the Imperials, Kallus had only ever used a human-created swimming pool. 

Garazeb laughs. The rolling warmth of it loosens Kallus’ tensed muscles. 

“Ya wouldn’ see the bottom if it was blue, either, Kal,” he replies fondly. “C’mon. There’s _nothin’_ scarier in these waters than me. Come a little closer, now. I want to show you these fancy rocks that I found.” 

“Oh-kaay…” Kallus says dubiously. He edges out farther into the water, until he and Zeb are side-to-side, both up to their knees. “Alright. Show me?” 

He should have known better. 

Kallus has only seconds to react when the great Lasat has wrapped his arms around him, and is dragging him out into even deeper water. Kallus finds himself yelping at the cold of the waves-- and the _warmth_ of Zeb’s naked body--as his every skin cell comes alive with sensation. 

_Bare. Touching him._

“Garazeb! _Betrayal!_ You never--” 

_“_ Welcome to Lira San, Alexsandr!” Zeb bellows, falling backwards into the water with Kallus still in his arms. “Hope ya like it!” 

For a moment, the pair are plunged below the bright surface; and then, just as quickly, they rise together, emerging into the late afternoon sun.

“How _dare_ you!” Kallus sputters, wiping water out of his golden eyes. “What if I couldn’t swim? What if you _hit my head?_ ” 

Garazeb chuckles. “For someone so supposedly ultra-lethal-ISB, ya sure get rattled about everythin’ pretty easy.” He tilts his head to the side. “For the record, I checked the depth.” 

Kallus scowls and pushes lightly against him. 

“Oh, _stop_ , you great, lumbering beast. You _know_ that I’m cautious about even potentially dangerous situations. How dare you betray me.” 

The look at the Lasat gives him is both exasperated and fond. He squeezes Kallus once more in his arms, then allows him to swim free into the violet water. 

“I’d never betray you, Alexsandr. And besides, don’ you forget: you’re safe with me. _Always_.” 

Kallus blushes, looking down at the sunlight-dappled pool. He never knows what to say when Zeb makes those kind of affectionate declarations. To his wanting ears, there is always so much potential for something more be heard. 

“You enjoyin’ yerself yet?” 

Kallus looks up. Zeb is staring at him, finally cautious and careful across the waves. Behind him, a series of twisting, iridescent waterfalls crash against the smoothed stones. Each one of them is a different shade of purple, and yet, none of them can compare to the color of Zeb’s lovely, striped fur. It makes the emerald-green of his eyes seem to glow brightly in contrast, as they search hopefully for Kallus’ affirmative answer. 

“Yes, Garazeb,” he responds breathlessly. “Very much.” 

The Lasat beams, his eyes crinkling with happiness. The sight of it makes Kallus’ heart _pound_. 

For a while, they linger there together in the quiet space, enjoying the day just between the two of them. Zeb, swimming around in the deeper water, often dives beneath the bright surface and retrieves a glittering rock for Kallus to admire. Kallus, for his part, floats upon his back and gazes up at the sky, considering how strangely beautiful his life has become since he’d given away the burdens of the Empire. 

When the sun begins to sink lower upon the horizon, Zeb paddles over to him, hovering in the water just close enough for Kallus to see his form beneath the surface. 

“You feelin’ hungry?” Zeb asks, tilting his head to the side. “Zia was sayin’ something about a fire-pit cookout, and I think you’d really enjoy that, if you’re up for it.” 

Kallus’ stomach gives a threatening rumble. Zeb’s face twists with amusement, as though he can feel the vibration of his hunger through the water. 

“Obviously, that sounds quite enticing,” Kallus replies. “Yes, please. Let’s go.” 

Zeb rises up from the water, his wet hair clinging to his sturdy form. “I was _hopin’_ you’d say that!” he replies. 

For a moment-- _just for a_ _moment_ \--Kallus allows himself to look at the way that the water runs in rivulets between Garazeb’s thick, chorded thighs; in the way that pools within the chiseled hollows of his navel; in the way that it drips from the straining cleft between his legs. 

“Yeah,” he replies, closing his eyes. “Just--give me another minute to enjoy this, will you? Then I’ll come and join you.” 

Zeb hums with agreement, then splashes away from him towards the opposite shore. As he goes, Kallus tries not to gasp any louder than the roaring falls, so that his friend will not hear his ragged breaths as he hurriedly jerks himself off from beneath the waves. 

  
  
  


Dinner is absolutely as luscious as possible. 

Kallus eats wet, fresh meiloorun fruits with his hands, slurping the juices from in between his fingertips. He dines on savory, sweet, puffer-pig flesh, smoked to tender perfection beneath the oven of sand. He drinks a beverage that he is _fairly_ sure contains alcohol--because the cinnamon-clove smell of its milky surface makes his head _spin_ with delightful bliss. 

And, as the night continues on, he finds his walls of resistance beginning to slowly crumble. 

Zia is _wonderful._ Her wife, Zayne, is fantastic, too. The Lasat women are friendly, vivacious, and eager to tell him stories about Garazeb’s past. Kallus grins through a mouthful of spiced, woven bread as Zia teases her brother about his childhood, making him out to be _far_ more of a bumbling idiot than he actually is. Zayne, more quiet than her wife but just as witty, is a native of Lira San herself; and she tells Kallus many stories about how the civilization first welcomed the wave of refugees, such as Zia when the time came. At first, Kallus’ face burns with shame upon hearing how Zia’s first husband had perished during the fall of Lasan; but then, in the tender, vibrant love that the two women show one another, he finds the little family breaking his heart with beauty. 

Parts of the evening are still strange, of course: Kallus is the only one still wearing clothes( _although it is down to his bathing shorts now),_ and he is the only one who is even _remotely_ homo-sapien. And yet--as the hours of dining and laughter unfolded together--he begins to feel more and more as though he really belongs here, and that this is his home, too. 

Zeb, at the very least, seems to think so. The Lasat has always stayed close to his side, but to Kallus’ delight, the pair of them are never more than _inches_ apart. More than once, Zeb throws a heavy arm around his shoulders, surrounding Kallus with warm, velvety heat and his familiar, spicy musk. Against all odds, Kallus feels quite comfortable there, as though his body actually _fits_ against the form of his friend, and has known it before. 

When all of the food had been eaten, all the fire-logs consumed, and when little Bryza is crying from overzealous tears, Zeb’s family agrees that it is, finally, time to tuck into bed. Kallus stands from the log where he has been sitting with Garazeb, stretching his limbs against the starry brightness of the evening sky. To his surprise, he feels unusually free and weightless without the tug of his upper-body clothing to restrain him. 

“No need to wake up early tomorrow morning,” Zia assures Kallus as she gathers her daughter into her arms. “We don’t have a pressing schedule. Once you’re up for it, we’ll go and visit the palace. I know that Garazeb would like to tell you about the royal court, and explain some of the our Old Lasan heritage.” 

“That would be wonderful!” Kallus replies gratefully. “Thank you, Zia, and you, Zayne. I cannot tell you enough how much your hospitality means to me. This has been _truly_ lovely.” 

Zayne smiles at Kallus. Her gentle smile reminds him of his own mother so much that it actually makes his eyes sting. 

“You’re family, Alexsandr,” she replies softly. “With family, we wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Turning away from him, the Lasat balances the child on her hip, and she follows her mate into the house. Kallus is left blinking in the starlight, feeling once again as though he does not deserve this stunning level of kindness. 

“Well, Kal? What do ya say? Ready to turn in?”

Kallus doesn’t startle nearly as much as he would have upon first arriving on-planet. He sighs, leaning back against the warmth of Zeb’s fuzzy chest. The Lasat approached him so silently that he hadn't even heard him, and yet, he’d known that Zeb would be there, standing behind him. 

“Yeah,” he sighs deeply, “I do believe that I am.” 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you enjoying it? Are you ready for Chapter two?? Please leave me a comment/kudo so that I know what's up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH NSFW AHEAD

* * *

CHAPTER TWO 

Mercifully, the night with Garazeb passes more quickly than he’d expected.

The Lasat is already snoring loudly when he toes out of his sandals at the edge of the bed. He hesitates at first, debating whether or not to sleep in his usual manner; then, eyes growing heavy with tiredness, Kallus removes his stiff shorts and rolls into bed alongside Garazeb. As he settles into the warm blankets and breathes in the familiar, heady smell of Lasat, Kallus is pleased with his decision to relieve himself earlier. He quickly falls into a deep, restful sleep, dreaming of feasts and deep-purple waterfalls. 

The next morning, however, is more like what he’d anticipated.

Alexsandr Kallus wakes to Lira San sunshine streaming through the window. He stretches his stiff arms, relishing the good feeling buzzing just under his skin. It does not surprise Kallus that he is hard, particularly with the (very good) smell of Garazeb in his nostrils. And yet, it _does_ surprise him to find that there is a strong, furry arm curled protectively around his waist, with its fingertips brushing the wing of his hip, and its claws gently pulling the curve of his ass flush to rest against a smooth, fuzzy pelvis. 

The very _bare_ curve of his ass. 

Kallus breaks into a sweat. Squeezing his eyes shut as though he might retreat once again into unconsciousness, he hurriedly recounts the events of last evening. When he recalls stripping himself of his shorts and climbing heady-heavy and drunk into bed, he allows himself to sigh in relief. The sigh, however, results in him sinking further back into Garazeb--and the feeling of his slumbering, semi-hard, purring best friend makes his heart _race._

“Hh- _uuuuum,_ Garazeb _?_ W-wake up, would you please _?_ ” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. Kallus bites down on his lower lip, wondering if it might not be better for him to try and extricate himself from this situation without the Lasat waking up himself. _Zeb doesn’t want this with me,_ he thinks carefully, _and I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable._ It would be rude to push what was his undeniable arousal upon his friend, let alone wake him from what must be a pleasant dream. 

“Mmm...Kal?” 

Kallus holds his breath as he feels Zeb’s warm, languid form stiffen with realization. Then, after a moment of rapidly-beating heart passes, the arm over his waist relaxes again. 

“Heh-heh, looks like we were cuddlin’ for warmth again, eh?” Garazeb asks. 

His voice is amused, and he taps his fingertips rhythmically upon Kallus’ bare hip. The feeling of claws upon his fragile skin makes Kallus _burn._

“L-looks like,” Kallus agrees weakly.

He feels the vibration of Zeb’s low, gravelly baritone humming against his back. He feels the pressure of his awakening sex pushing agianst the cleft of his back. 

“You get some good sleep?” Zeb nuzzles his nose and lips against the back of Kallus’ neck, making him start and gasp in surprise at touch. The moist, warm puff of his breath raises his blonde hairs into alertness, and sends a shiver down his tall spine. 

“Um, _yes_ , absolutely,” Kallus replies, doing his best to stay sane. “And you, Garazeb?” 

The Lasat chuckles. 

“Like a dream,” he murmurs, lips brushing against Kallus’ skin. 

_Ashla! He’s_ got _to be able to taste that I’m sweating...he’s_ got _to notice that my heartbeat is racing beneath his hands. Karabast, Kallus! Think of ice moons! No, think of the Empire!..._ Kallus shivers as Zeb’s fingertips trace down his thighs. 

“Looks like yeh decided to try goin’ native, Kal,” the Lasat observes pleasantly. “Not bad. Not bad at _all._ ” 

Although he cannot see his friend’s gaze, Kallus can imagine the way that his emerald-green eyes are dragging over his bare-naked form. 

_Oh, heavenly stars!_ Kallus thinks dizzily. _How I want him to look!_ _And...and yet...this is_ not _the same thing to Garazeb as it is to me._

Kallus closes his eyes in resolution. 

_Remember: the Lasats go about their everyday naked. Garazeb Orrelios, your_ friend, _is not making this weird:_ you _are. Just_ you.

“Ah, well, you know,” he offers lamely. “When in Rome: do as the Romans do.” 

Kallus feels the Lasat tilt his head to the side. His bristled whiskers brush against the smooth, freckled skin of his back, and it nearly makes Kallus groan in tense pleasure. 

“What’s ‘Rome’?” Zeb asks curiously. 

Kallus sighs. 

“Oh, right, sorry. It’s a human phrase. Means that one ought to try the local traditions wherever one visits, with a suspended judgement. I suppose in this case that it would be more accurate for me to say ‘when on Lira San, do as the Lasats do.’” 

Garazeb chuckles warmly. 

“Think I _like_ the sound of that!” 

His fingertips ghost down the back of Kallus’ thighs. They come to rest just beneath the plush swell of his ass, gently moving a handful of space between his gathering hardness and Kallus. 

“Not sure that yer lookin’ for what Lasats do about _this_ in the mornin’, though,” he adds casually. 

Kallus feels his heartbeat _stop_. 

_No. Don’t look. Don’t ask! He’s just making light of the subject!! What_ else _would you say or do, if you woke up like this: your needy, unattractive best friend sitting on your dick??_

“I-I-I,” Kallus stutterers eloquently, “Garazeb, I--” 

There is a sudden, sharp _slap_ on his ass, making Kallus yelp. 

“Sorry, Alexsandr! Didn’ mean to cross a line there,” Zeb laughs. Kallus turns to face him, flushed-face, and he sees his twinkling, green eyes dancing with laughter. “Why don’ you get up and use the ‘fresher first? By the time yer done doing that fancy hair, I’ll be finished up here.” He stares at Zeb wordlessly. “Gotta take care of some business, if ya know what I mean.” 

The Lasat winks. 

Sputtering, Kallus tears himself from the bed. He stumbles around for the nearest pair of discarded shorts, and then, not looking back, staggers rock-hard out of the door. 

As he exits, he’s _sure_ that he hears Garazeb moan. 

  
  


By the time that they reach the palace at noon, Kallus’ chest has developed a burn. 

He’d decided earlier that day to go shirtless, given the rising temperature and the feeling that he blended in better with the naked Lasats. Now, however, he is having regrets: his pale, freckled skin is slightly peeling, and only his shoulders have been used to the Yavin 4 sun. Perhaps it might have been more prudent to wear a tank-top. However, as he steps into the cooling shade of the grand, marble palace, he realizes that perhaps a tank-top might have been better. 

“Welcome to the Turquoise Palace!” Zia says grandly. She spreads her striped arms wide and welcoming as they step into the cooling shade of the structure. “Residence of the Royal Family when they visit, _and_ , pride and joy of our local villages.” 

Kallus does not fight to hide his awe and admiration. The ride to the palace through the local villages into the larger city had been marvelous: brightly-painted houses and cheerful, barefoot Lasat children had given way into glittering ships and towering holo-technology. Even though it is carved from blue, ancient stones, the palace carries the same impressive, futuristic splendor as the urban center surrounding it: bright, spiraling transparisteel turrets; grand, painted pillars of stone that flowed like water; and the lovely, fragrant Lasat custom of endless baskets of fresh, hanging flowers. 

“It’s _marvelous_ ,” Kallus affirms, not having to fake his enthusiasm at all. He strides to look at a painting hanging up on the wall, delightful in its blocky caricature of the royals. “I really like the style of the artwork!” 

Behind him, Zeb chuckles. Kallus stiffens slightly; he has not forgotten their intimate proximity earlier. However, he relaxes into the Lasat’s familiar presence as soon as he is standing next to his side, smiling and folding his arms as he always does. 

“Now yer startin’ to sound like that blue-headed Empire _prick_ ,” Garazeb teases. Kallus frowns, and he bumps him with a purple shoulder. “Ah, just kiddin’, Kal. We’re very proud of the Royal Family.” 

Kallus narrows his eyes in confusion. There are half a dozen Lasats standing tall and regal in the portrait, all of them looking as though they belong there. Little Bryza tugs on Kallus’ shorts, drawing his attention. 

“That one’s the king,” she says, pointing a tiny, clawed hand at a cobalt-blue male. “And that one’s his partner,” she says, pointing at another, purple one. 

Kallus looks at Zeb and raises his eyebrows. 

“Contrary to popular belief,” Zia laughs from Zeb’s other side, “not _everybody_ in Lira San is gay. Just the best of us.” 

She elbows her younger brother, who growls softly in warning. Kallus chuckles into his hand, blushing and looking down at the floor. 

“How does this all work, exactly?” he asks. “I’m sorry to ask an insensitive question, but I have no idea. Where I come from, it was all strict, breeding-focused Imperial rules.” 

Zia hums in sympathy. 

“No offense taken, Alexsandr. Not many species are as open as we Lasats. The king and his partner here are the rulers--but they are also part of a larger, royal courtship. These two--” she motions towards two purple Lasats, a male and female, “--are the ones who provide the lineage of the royal bloodline. At these other two--” she motions to the other two, blue females, “are a bonded pair. All of them rule together, and all of them are married.”

“Ah!” Kallus replies, observing the painting with new curiosity. “I understand. Are such large married groups common among Lasats? Or just among your royalty?” 

His eyes linger over the happy faces, the gentle touches of hands upon shoulders, and feels his heart ache. With a sudden pang of longing, he wonders if Lasats ever marry their non-Lasat lovers. 

“Royalty, more often. But it’s certainly not unheard of.” Zia bends down to the insistent tug of her daughter. “Like I said: Lasats are quite open creatures, when it comes to romance.”

She gives her brother a _very_ pointed look. Zeb glares. 

Bryza tugs at her mothers’ trousers. “Mama, I’m _bored!_ Let’s go see the royal Banthas! _Please_?”

Kallus feels his heart lifting. His lips tug with amusement, and he turns to Garazeb, who is still scowling mulishly at his sister. 

“Lira San Lasats keep a herd of royal _Banthas_ in their palaces _?”_ he asks his friend.

To draw Zeb’s attention, Kallus places a hand upon the Lasat’s forearm. Zeb looks down at his hand in surprise. 

“Well, that way, we never run outta milk,” he says lightly. His mouth twitches. 

Kallus shakes his head. Feeling happier than he has in a long time, he follows an eager Bryza down the blue-stoned hallway towards an open patch of grassy sunlight. As they go, he slips his hand casually inside Garazeb’s. 

Their fingers twine loosely together. 

  
  


“Hold still!” Bryza cries, firmly grabbing Kallus’ face. He holds: feeling her tiny, pinprick of claws digging beneath the layer of his blonde, shaggy beard. 

“I’m _trying!”_ he laughs, the motion of his jaw shaking the steady hand that is daubing a layer of paint over his sunburned nose. “Bryza, it tickles.” 

She makes a snorting sound of laughter through her flat nose--one that he has become accustomed to over time by hearing Garazeb--and the sound makes him feel warm all over. 

“You’re a _baby,_ Uncle Sandy,” the Lasat cub replies. 

Keeping her firm hold upon him, she adds another stripe to the pattern upon his face. 

“But it’s okay. By the time I’m all done with you, you’re gonna look _just_ like a regular Lasat!” 

Kallus laughs, but the child frowns sternly at him, her glinting, green eyes narrowed with impatience. 

“Alright, _alright_ , I’m holding still,” Kallus confirms. “Just, try not to be so gentle with the brush.” 

“Noted.” the little girl replies, jabbing it sharply into his nose. 

Kallus makes his own snort of surprise, and she bursts out laughing. It’s _terribly_ cute: the way that her little underbite fangs glint in the light, with the top ones still missing, and that wrinkled-up nose. It reminds him so much of Garazeb that it makes his heart flutter. 

Bryza sticks her tongue out in concentration as she moves on to the space beside his ears, using one hand to brush his long hair away from his temples. 

“So you don’t have mange?” she asks, pinching a blond lock between her fingers.

Kallus laughs softly. “Nope. Never have. Hopefully, never will.” 

“Then you’re really human?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically. 

The former imperial sighs. He does not want the joy of the moment to slip away, but he will not lie to the curious child. 

“That’s right. I’m a human. I know you’ve heard the stories.” 

She looks back at him steadily, and Kallus knows that he must have guessed right. No doubt, the Lira San Lasats had grown up with stories from their Lasan refugees: stories of the Empire (who, with infamous exceptions, only ever employed humans) had arrived with disruptors and violence to desecrate their homeland. If Bryza was anything like the peers her age, Kallus suspected that she had learned not only in history books--but by mouth and word, from people like her mother--of his level of responsibility in the Lasan genocide. It is far more likely that Kallus, with his blonde hair, pale skin and furless hide, was a walking testament to the evil in this world. 

“I’m sorry, Bryza,” he says to her solemnly. “Most of the stories that you’ve heard are, unfortunately, true. I come from a land with a history of monsters...and I have _been_ that monster. Human beings are dangerous, and you should be very careful.” 

The little Lasat considers him, then paints another stripe across his brow. The paint is cool: made of earth and clay, colored by crushed flowers and oils, it moves soft and sleek across his dry, caking skin.

“Done!” Bryza pronounces.

When her firm, little hands finally release him, Kallus rubs at his stiff, sore jaw. For such a small creature, the child has a _shockingly_ strong grip. He ought to have known: after all, Lasats are notorious for their great strength and power.

“You don’t look much like a human _now_ ,” she says, grinning at him cheekily. “Thankfully, I’m an _artist._ I’ve been blessed by the Ashla, and these stripes make you _far_ more handsome.” 

Kallus grins in return. 

“I’ve known a few artists,” he replies fondly, thinking of Sabine Wren. “A good profession.” Kallus remembers the way that the young Mandelorian woman had painted his former Imperial armor so that it was no longer a sign of his bloody past, but a testament to the vibrant life and colors of the Phoenix Squadron. He remembers how she had--even while Kallus was still disguised as Fulcrum--tagged the wall of Ezra and Garazeb’s room with a painting of himself and the Lasat. 

Bryza is watching him. 

Surprising Kallus, the young Lasat suddenly leans in close to his chest. Without hesitation, she rubs one of her furry cheeks softly against one side of Kallus’ blonde mutton chops; and then, gently upon the other. Kallus blinks: this is the equivalent of a Lasat’s precious, familial kiss. He raises his eyebrows in surprise and amusement as she draws back, tiny hands coming to rest on his forearms. 

“Well, you can’t be all bad, for a human,” she replies. “Not if my Uncle Garazeb loves you.” 

The child gathers up her painting tools, unaware that she has revealed something earth-shaking to Kallus in her simple words. He raises a hand and waves at Bryza as she skips away, then, brings his fingertips to rest upon his bearded cheek. _It’s still warm._ The ‘kiss’ was a sweet one: marking Alexsandr Kallus--former ISB-Agent and infamous Butcher of Lasan--as someone who is both _cared for_ and _trustworthy_ . Like her _family._ Touching the place where he’d received the affection, Kallus wonders for the first time if he has perhaps misunderstood Garazeb’s intentions for him to travel with to Lira San. 

  
  


The humidity of the day finally breaks upon the sounds of rumbling thunder. Kallus enjoys another delicious dinner with Garazeb and his family--some sort of savory-sweet kababs with roasted root-vegetables--this time _inside_ , because the rain is beginning to fall. Bright, purple-white lightning splits the sky, and Kallus’ eyes water in wonder. 

Garazeb chuckles. 

“Yer not supposed to stare right at it,” the Lasat chides his friend good-naturedly. “Help me out with those last few dishes, would ya?” 

“Of course,” Kallus replies. He picks up the slab of thin-sliced, crystalline stone, tempering himself not to lick the savory juices of kebab sauce from its translucent surface. “This ones, once again, _fabulous,_ Garazeb. It’s been such a privilege to spend this time with your family.” 

Zeb hums in agreement. 

“Yeah, Zayne spoils us rotten. Zia really lucked out, when she picked out her mate.”

The Lasat receives the soiled dish from him, their fingertips gently brushing. Kallus blushes. 

“Tell me about how that works,” he asks Zeb casually. “Do Lasats have a specific series of… _courtship rituals_? With the possibility of multiple bonded pairs, do you still mate for life?” 

Zeb snorts. He flicks some of the soapy water at Kallus from the sink. 

“ _Yes,_ we mate for life!” he laughs that deep, rumbling laugh, and Kallus feels a wash of relief. “Jus’ because we’re open-minded doesn’t mean that we’re some kinda _loose beings_ or somethin’. But _why,_ ” the Lasat asks slyly, “all the big curiosity, Kal?” 

Alexsandr Kallus nearly fumbles the final dish that he’s handing over to Garazeb. Catching it at the last moment within deft fingertips, he straightens up quickly, forcing deep breaths. 

“No reason in particular!” he replies quickly. “Ah, I suppose it’s old ISB habits. You know what they say, _‘old habits die hard!_ ’” 

The other man squints at him. Kallus shivers, getting the instinctive feeling that Zeb is looking directly through his facade. 

“You’re jus’ full of those human sayin’s, aren’t ya?” the Lasat asks. He turns back to the dishes, chuckling to himself. “First the Romans, now this.” 

For just the briefest moment, Kallus feels _grateful_ for the burn that has reddened his skin. He does not want Garazeb to see what it does to his composure to recall their exchange of words ( _and body heat)_ that morning. 

“Um, speaking of cultural differences,” the human rushes, searching for a new subject, “how about that purple lightning, huh? We don’t have that anywhere else I’m from!” 

Zeb reaches a forearm into the sink to drain the soapy water. It flows up around his arm to his elbows, making his velvety, short fur clutch against his muscular frame. It makes Kallus thinks of his fur-plastered form from yesterday while they were wet. Of Kallus hurriedly touching himself. 

“S-so, do you think that it would be dangerous to take a closer look?” he asks, brain racing wildly for something else to say. “Outside, I mean? At the lightning storm?” 

The Lasat turns to look at him curiously. His face quickly turns into an excited grin at the prospect of danger, and he gives a chuckle that shakes his broad shoulders. 

“Oh, now yer _talkin’_ , Kal!” Zeb replies enthusiastically, shaking his hands free from the sink. “Yeah, let me just let Zia know so that Bryza doesn’t get any crazy ideas to follow us, and then, I’ll show ya a very good spot.”

Kallus finds himself nodding and smiling as Zeb strides out of the room. However, as he watches his bare backside retreating, it occurs to him that putting themselves in yet _another_ situation in which Zeb is soaking and _shredded_ might not be the best thing for his morale. 

_Karabast! Why do I keep doing this to myself?!_

  
  


The outlook is not much farther than a five-minute walk from their dwelling place. It overlooks the brilliant, flickering lights of the city, and Kallus feels a bit like he is on his back looking up at the stars, as each light is shimmering through the falling raindrops. Garazeb had insisted upon splashing through every puddle along the pathway, and Kallus is properly _soaking_ through his thin shorts at this point. He’s removed his sandals and gloves, and the rain feels delicious and cool against the sensitive burn of his skin. 

“If ya look over there, then you can see where Bryza goes for her education.” Zeb sweeps a dripping arm out over the glittering cityscape. It’s an impressive sight. “And if ya remember the route that we took to the palace? That line of lights: that’s where they had those hoverin’ street lamps.”

Kallus makes a noise of confirmation, but his eyes are only on Garazeb. Once again, the Lasat’s fur is plastered to his powerfully-framed body. His eyes are glowing brightly in the dark, and they remind Kallus of the golden, warm meteorite that Zeb had once given him to keep him warm. The humidity of the day is gone, but Zeb does not seem chilled by the rain that is falling upon his bare skin and fur. Every once in a while, he gives a slight, abrupt shiver; but that only seems to be for dispelling raindrops from his tall, pointed ears. 

“An--oh, hold on, I think we’re gonna get a big one here--” 

Zeb steps over into Kallus’ personal space, the warmth of his breath fanning over his bare, sensitive shoulders and back. Within seconds, a streak of brilliant, purple-white lightning crackles and splits open the sky. It’s just in time for Kallus to jolt, and for his hands to brush against Zeb’s open palm.

The Lasat twines their brushing fingers together and _squeezes._

The thunder following the strange lightning rumbles, and Kallus feels himself shiver with anticipation. Holding his breath, he glances down at the broad, sturdy grip that Garazeb has upon the cliff ledge. He admires the strength of his feet from his claws to his flexible toes, and the way that his striped, meaty calves are tensed with concentration. Slowly, he trails his eyes up his friend’s body, taking time to admire each beautiful and soaking detail. Kallus _knows_ that his gaze stutters too long as he drags his eyes over his powerful thighs, his stunning organs--but he wills himself to do it, and looks with appreciation at the Lasat’s strong hips and navel. When he finally brings himself to look past those powerful arms and defined pectorals--when he _finally_ allows himself to look into the Lasat’s eyes--he sees a look of appreciation echoed back there. 

Appreciation, and _hunger._

“Garazeb, I-I---” 

His friend draws him close by the hand, the length of their bodies brushing together. Kallus gasps with the wave of startling, heady pleasure that follows every inch of contact along their bodies, starting near there knees and flowing up towards their chests. 

He can feel his own heart pummeling against his ribs. 

“Alexsandr…” Zeb rumbles in a low voice, sounding much like the thunder rolling around them. He brings one of his massive, clawed hands up behind Kallus’ head, cupping the soaking locks of blonde hair between his supportive fingers. 

Kallus gasps as he feels the very real, very _bare_ push of Zeb’s sex against his soaked shorts. He doesn’t gaze down--as much as he _wants_ to--as the radiant heat of it settles heavily against his thigh. 

_This. This is. Happening?!_

He feels himself shaking as Zeb brings their faces in close. 

“Alexsandr Kallus...would ya like to know about _another_ important custom of my people?” 

His voice is a liquid, baritone purr. His clawed fingers rub along the ridges of Kallus’ dizzy skull.

_Oh, stars! Oh, Ashla! I think this is actually happening!_

Kallus whimpers. He nods vigorously.

Garazeb exhales, mouth opening just above the human’s own so that their lips brush together and tickle as he says the next words. 

“I doubt that ya knew it, but...we often _mate_ during thunderstorms.” 

Kallus gasps aloud as lightning splits the sky behind them. 

“I-is that so?” he hears himself stammering. “ _W-well_ , Captain Garazeb Orrelios, y-you know what they _say…_ ”

He can feel the rumble that follows the lightning low in his core. He shudders.

“Yeah,” Zeb agrees. “Fuck who ya love, an’ when the mood takes ya.”

Kallus gives a grateful, sobbing laugh. Rain and tears of pleasured releaf fill his eyes as the Lasat wraps his massive arms around him, lifting him up and off the ground. And then, they are _kissing._ Not only Lasat style, romantic kissing--earnestly rubbing their bearded jawlines together, mingling their scent and raising their body temperature--but also, real, human _mouth-fucking,_ Zeb pushing his _(frankly, enormous)_ tongue down his open, willing throat. 

_So, I was wrong!_ he thinks to himself wildly. _That_ was _innuendo! He_ does _really want me!_

The ludicrousness of it makes Kallus laugh. His partner draws back, grinning just as widely. 

“Do’ya want to take this back inside?” Garazeb asks, running his hands up and down Kallus’ rain-slicked sides. “Or do ya want to experience this in the _local_ way?” 

Kallus groans and pushes his mouth against Zeb’s exposed neck. 

“W-why not _both_?” he pants into his fur. “I’m an enthusiastic tourist, after all.” 

Garazeb _growls._ His powerful hands grip the sides of Kallus’ shorts, tearing at the fabric where it is belted and clinging to his trembling waist. 

His claws shred the leather into winding strips. 

“Right. Doin’ ya as the Lasats do.” 

Kallus cries out in painful ecstasy as Zeb drives his downward upon his excessive, fully-extended shaft. 

Shifting against the sliding member, Kallus hears himself crying out with delighted surprise. _H-gow did this fit inside of Zeb’s body?! It couldn’t have possibly fit underneath that little sheath?!_ However, that mystery would need to remain until the next time-- _oh, Ashla, the next time!!--_ that they’d be doing this, because Zeb is panting and grinding and _tearing_ at Kallus’ clothing, until he has fully stripped the human till he is undressed. 

“You _want_ it?” Zeb demands. 

The Lasat looks positively _wild._ His mouth hangs open, and his bright fangs peek out from his plush lower lip. His abdominal muscles are quaking with anticipation, and one of his great, clawed hands is pumping rapidly up and down upon his slick shaft. _Stars, his shaft!_ It is the most brilliant, bright, neon hue of purple-- _not unlike,_ Kallus realizes with a flash of electric lust-- _the white-hot lightning in the sky._ His eyes cannot stand to part for one second from the sticky, wet sounds of Zeb working his cock, which looks to be nearly as long and as broad as Kallus’ forearm. 

“ _Karabast. YES,_ ” he replies feverishly.

(Briefly, Kallus wonders what he must look like, standing there naked and burnt and dishevelled in the dark, pouring rain. He finds that he doesn’t really kriffing _care._ )

“Garazeb, please, I _need_ you...to…” he licks his lips, “I need you fuck me. Right here, right now.” 

“Can do.” 

Zeb closes the space between them, pushing Kallus down to his knees. He gasps once again, enraptured, at feeling the full force of his power beneath his hand. The former Imperial groans as the Lasat grips a hand around his beard, forcing his jaw open as wide as possible. 

“First, get me good n’ ready. Then, we’ll take care of you.” 

Kallus moans in affirmation, and receives the slick push of erection against his lips. If he wasn’t so enamoured with this much-anticipated moment, he would allow his eyes to drift close at the heavenly, spicy, soft-sweet of it. The human opens his mouth, and Zeb viciously thrusts against his lips, pushing his way into the wet heat without preamble. 

“ _Karabast,_ ya feel _good!”_ Zeb grunts, hand forcing him to take his shaft deeper. “Keep doin’ whatever it is that yer doin, if ya can manage it.” 

Kallus grunts, and his fingertips twitch within the tangle of his blonde muttonchops. 

“ _K-karabast…”_ Zeb whispers in awe. 

He would have to agree. Zeb’s color and taste is quite different then any human that Kallus has taken down before--but it is the sheer _size_ of it that gets him. The Lasat is too much for him to swallow entirely, and Kallus has been through _thorough_ ISB training. Along with leaving him without a gag reflex, his time in military training had conditioned him to endure even the most _healthy_ of specimens--but Zeb is in a league of his own. Kallus can feel the arrow-shaped head of him thrusting against the back of his throat, sliding down his constricting esophagus, and he hasn’t even hit the base near his balls yet. 

“Hoo-boy,” Garazeb pants, pulling back and away from Kallus slightly. His domineering, commanding presence is lost in the moment of his fragile appreciation and surprise for his lover’s talent. “ _Wow,_ Kal. I guess…you... _yeah._ So. M’ good. Turn around.” 

Kallus gives a dazed, satisfied smile at the wide-blown irises gazing down at him. Obediently, he lowers his hands and knees to the ground, and turns so that his back is to the Lasat. Shivering with excitement, he leans forward until his posterior is raised high in the air, providing an easy access for the crouching man. 

“Dear _Ashla,_ it’s a goddamn _shame_ that you’ve been wearing clothes,” Garazeb growls. 

Zeb’s sharp fingertips clench the back of Kallus’ thighs, and the human cries out in delighted pleasure. The Lasat bows his head, grinning from ear to ear, and Kallus can feel the hot puffs of his breath against his soaking ass. 

“If you woulda presented me with _this_ when we first landed, we wouldn't have been dancin’ ‘round each other for the past 24 hours.” 

Kallus whimpers in similar regret as the Lasat’s tongue lands wetly against his lower back. 

“B-better m-make up for lost t-time…” the human manages. 

Zeb growls in agreement, and begins eagerly eating his ass. 

The former imperial _cries_ in delight as the long, rough tongue makes its way into his pucker. Zeb slurps and sucks, bringing his mouth flush and close to the heat of his body. When Kallus squirms backwards, the Lasat only holds him tighter, digging deeper in with his tongue and making suckling, appreciative sounds. When Kallus digs his fingers into the wet ground, catching red sand beneath his fingertips, the Lasat pulls back for a snorting breath. 

“You taste _very good,”_ Zeb tells him, his voice all gravel and darkness. 

Kallus gives a shaking laugh. Thunder rolls all around them. 

“S-suppose that I’ve been very well fed recently,” he replies, hot droplets of sweat and rain falling off of his face. “Alt-though, if I’d _known_ that you’d been trying to sweeten me up, I might’ve resisted you just a bit.” 

Garazeb growls and returns to his task. 

“Thankless,” he mutters, licking a long stripe up his crevice. “All of this time, and you’ve just been playin’ hard to get.” 

Lightning splits the sky, and Kallus laughs aloud. He hardly recognizes the wild, reckless sound of his joyful voice. 

“ _I’ve_ been playing hard to get, Garazeb?!” he shifts, trying to look back at the busy Lasat. “I _know_ that you have been quite aware of my painfully-obvious advances! It’s _you_ who is to blame for this delay!” 

The Lasat draws back from him, wiping a hand across his dripping beard. He looks positively _dangerous_ as he returns Kallus’ gaze, eyes raking over his naked form in a way that suggests he has finished his waiting. 

“Fair enough,” he admits, raising up until he is standing behind Kallus. “Guess I just like to see ya squirm. Oh, an’ about that…” he grins wickedly, “... _brace yourself.”_

The next roll of thunder drowns out Kallus’ _scream_ of molten pleasure as the Lasat forces his face down towards the earth, raises his pelvis up high, and drives his dripping, fully-extended shaft into his well-loosened anus. 

“ _J-jus’_ like that…” Zeb pants, pounding into the human braced on his hands and knees. “T-that’s how we do this... _that’s_ how I want ya...” 

Rain pours down over the pair of them. They are surrounded by glittering darkness, with only the sounds of thunder and hissing rain to mask the slick-slap and crying out of their lovemaking. Stripped down to his skin, on his knees, upon a foreign planet, Alexsandr Kallus has never felt more at home. He is sheathed around his Lasat, and openly sounding his pleasure; he is feeling more received, more _alive,_ than he’s ever dared to even fantasize about before. 

A particularly _vicious_ thrust and growl from Garazeb brings Kallus to his breaking point. With a grateful, deliriously happy sob, he releases his spend upon the earth beneath them. Like the rain around them, it is almost immediately soaked into the thirsty sand. 

“ _Yeah!”_ Zeb praises, voice rough and ecstatic. “Yes, Kal, _yes!_ Jus’ hold on--I’m _close_ \--I’ll b-be very--!!!” 

Kallus cries out again in a whole new pleasure as his partner snarls and pulses with brilliant heat.Impossibly fuller, he receives rivulets of hot, thick release within his rectum, plentiful gushes of it spurting from any possible exit and running down his punished asscheeks and thighs. Elbows shuddering and giving way, Kallus collapses upon the ground, feeling the grunt and shift of his lover behind him. Lasts, it appears, are _flexible_ lovers: Zeb slides down to rest on top of him, still fully sheathed within his body. 

The weight of him is delightfully crushing. 

Giggling with light-headed wonder, Kallus calls up to his partner, “Well! I quite _like_ Lira San! I think, if it suits you, we should plan on making regular visits!” 

Garazeb shifts on top of him, sliding thier soaking and sensitized bodies together. Kallus groans and sighs, eyelids fluttering shut. The Lasat settles so that his chest is pressed into the human’s back, still taking care not to disrupt his burns even as he crushes his weight and warmth against him. 

“Regular visits back to the _Ghost?_ Sure, that’s fine. But you an’ me: this is _home_ now _._ It’s _our_ home. That is, if you’ll have it.” 

The tears are coming back now in earnest. Kallus blinks them away, his whole heart bursting with fondness _(and his whole body bursting with Zeb)._ Nothing has ever sounded better. “I quite like that proposal,” he replies breathlessly. “As I do believe that I’ve become quite attached to one of the locals.” 

Garazeb Orrelios chuckles. He licks into the back of Kallus’ neck fondly, tasting the skin just above his shoulder. 

“Not yet,” Zeb replies casually. When he shifts curiously beneath him, and the Lasat chuckles, “but I sure can do that for you, if ya like?” 

Kallus makes a sound of excited interest. 

“Alright, Kal, I’ll tell ya what: it’s time I acquaint ya with another tradition of the Lasat. So, there’s this thing called _marking_ …” his lips hover just above his lover’s hot, sweaty skin. “An’ it might involve some _teeth.”_

Alexsandr Kallus shivers with delighted anticipation. 

_“Tell me,”_ he replies earnestly. “I’ve recently become a local. And the people of Lira San are quite open-minded..."

  
  


* * *

  
  


END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a cheesy, tropy mess of a garbage pit and I am NOT SORRY ABOUT IT. Come shout at me about Kalluzeb on twitter @chocomudkip or whatever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


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